


Tell Me On A Sunday

by gayalondiel



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayalondiel/pseuds/gayalondiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back from St Petersburg, Martin wonders if his family will be proud of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me On A Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** St Petersburg
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Cabin Pressure is the creation of the wonderful John Finnemore and is a Pozzitive Production for the BBC. No ownership is implied or inferred. This is done for love only.
> 
>  **AN:** Ooh, this was a surprise. First CP fic ever. Not sure if I’m going to crosspost this to any comms - it’s a little whim of a piece - but we’ll see. Also, I’ve only heard the episode as it went out and don’t have a download yet, it’s entirely possible that I’ve misremembered, oh, everything.

One of the benefits of flying with a charter airline was the frequency with which it kept Martin away from his mother’s monthly, ghastly Sunday lunches.

It wasn’t that his mother was ghastly, nor Caitlin or Simon or either of their husbands, nor indeed that his mother couldn’t cook. Her roasts were slightly too dry and the potatos slightly too soggy, but it was how he remembered it from his childhood and the gravy was good. As for his family, individually they were all fine, lovely even.

It was the combination, the constant chatter about the bills that Caitlin the Assistant to a Junior Minister was working on or the latest article her husband had published, the way their mother doted on Sally, Simon and David’s year old daughter, all the while casting pointed looks in Martin’s direction to remind him that he was single, alone, uncelebrated and failing to procreate. He was happy for them, all of them, of course he was. But it threw into such sharp relief the miserable extent of his own life, and that was underlined in every glance, every turn of phrase, every kindly worded question. And all the while, the visage of his father looked down from dozens of photos, judging him silently.

Caitlin and Simon, the twins, the younger, better siblings. It wasn’t their fault that he had a chip on his shoulder, he knew that, but it put such a barrier between them. And in all honesty it would not have surprised him if his mother responded to the question of how many children she had with “I have two, twins, a girl and a boy. Caitlin’s a civil servant, and Simon works in the bank, and he’s recently had a baby with another man, isn’t that wonderful? Oh, and there’s Martin, I suppose.”

Well, today was different. Freshly back from Russia, a scant four hours’ sleep but he was up and dressed, ready to face them all after six months of excuses and absences. Today he had something to hold his head up about, something to tell his mother proudly, something that meant something and proved that he was not a failure. He had remained calm in a crisis, kept his head, _saved lives_. Surely now they would be proud, would smile on him. Maybe his mother would tell her coffee morning friends how her eldest son had guided a crippled plane calmly and safely to the ground , and her voice would be warm when she said it.

Maybe she would tell him how proud his father would have been of him.

He unlocked the white door with its diamond patterned windows and walked in, calling a greeting in the direction of the kitchen while he took off his shoes, before turning into the chintz-laden sitting room. Caitlin and Simon were here already, chatting while Caitlin bounced little Sally on her knee. He guessed both their partners were helping in the kitchen, making themselves ideal sons-in-law. Caitlin looked up in surprise as he walked in.

“Martin!” she said in her slightly over-crisp adopted Whitehall accent. “We didn’t think you’d make it. How was... Russia, was it?”

 _Actually, the one of the engines blew out over St Petersburg and I brought the plane safely down on one engine in a textbook landing and saved everyone on board. Then I helped to save a friend’s business and we gave her awful ex-husband a serious piece of our minds about the way he treats their son. I was a captain, really a captain and everyone knew it and believed it, so I succeeded, like you all thought I never would, isn’t that wonderful?_

Martin drew a deep breath, and a sense of calm he hadn’t often felt washed through him.

“Oh, fine, thanks. Same old same old, boring really. How’s the Health Bill going?”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows just slightly before returning to the narrative about intrigue and politics in her office. Simon passed him a glass of wine and Martin sat and listened, flapping his fingers at Sally who blew a bubble at him in return.


End file.
